Disenchanted (26 page)

Keely.

That’s me, I’m Keely. I giggle and end up choking. I try and lift my hands reaching for that warm, firm... Body?

My eyelids feel like they weigh a ton. I manage to open them to a curtain of silver. Sharp, ashen features come into view, pain and fear in virtually colorless eyes. Sensuous lips curl upward in a smile and I try to lift my head to kiss them.

“I thought I’d lost you, but there’s still a chance. You need to wake up.”

My dream lover, Vereinen. If I wake up, he’ll be gone. “I don’t want to.”

“You have to, if you do not, you will drown.”

“Drown?” I giggle. “How can I drown if I’m here with you?”

“You are asleep, remember?”

“I don’t care. I want to stay with you.” My brain is a fuzzy mess, I can’t concentrate on anything.

“You can come another time, preferably when you are on dry land. Now wake up, Keely, and swim.”

“Don’t know how.”

“Damn.”

I reach out and stroke his smooth hairless chest. He gently removes my hand.

“There is no time for that.”

“Dere’s always ime fer dat,” my words become slurred and movements slow motion. The fuzziness thickens and my ears ring something awful.

“Damn it, wake up,” he shouts, shaking me. “Concentrate on the shadows lifting you to the surface.”

“Dere’s no shadows uner da water.”

“There are shadows everywhere light and dark meet, now concentrate. I cannot help you if you do not try.”

Sighing, I picture shadowy hands along my body, caressing, stroking.

“Lifting, Keely!”

Slowly the hands take hold and drag me upward. He says something as I’m pulled away, but I don’t catch it. The hands move too fast.

Air, cold and clean slaps me in the face. The waves pushed me toward the shore far enough, I can touch the bottom. With jelly for legs standing isn’t an option. I claw and scratch my way onto the beach, heaving the water from my lungs.

Lying in the wet sand, what would have been the last moments of my life flash behind my lids. What in Hel’s Realm, had I been thinking, jumping in the lake? Obviously, I hadn’t been. Thinking that is. I’d definitely jumped. Sure, I’d averted becoming the next piece in the collection, but I’d almost drowned. If it hadn’t been for Einen, I’d be fish food right now.

This is starting to become a very bad pattern, of playing the damsel in distress while someone rushes in to save me. Hel’s Realm, even my cat has saved me. Guess it stops here. I slowly rise to a semi–reclining position. None of my hunky men, friends, or even the cat, are going to get me off this beach. It’s just little ol’ me. Take that back, little ol’ me and a lone figure walking this way. One whose posture and rate of movement doesn’t look exactly friendly, or helpful.

***

“You fucking bitch!”

Nope, not friendly, or helpful. How did he find me? I mean really, what are the chances he’d find me? As he closes in, I see his clothes, hanging from that spindly form like wet rags. That’s how. The idiot jumped in after me, so obviously not as smart as he thinks he is. He may not be a genius, but he’s still dangerous. Out to kill me dangerous.

Jelly legs still aren’t cooperating, but adrenaline forces me to try anyway, and fail. I slip and fall with a bone–jarring thud, grabbing sloppy handfuls of sand propelling myself forward. Just not fast enough. My head jerks back as his fingers tangle in the sticky remains of my ‘do. Damn that hurts, but it’s nothing compared to what he has in mind.

Wet sand scrapes along my skin and ends up in the most inconvenient places. On the bright side, he’s digging a nice trench. I just disapprove of his choice of tools. The body isn’t meant to be a tool for excavation, and hair isn’t made for being used as a handle either. I’m surprised I have any left. Wait a minute, not that I have one, but I do have an idea.

Long ago in a time far, far away—high school to be exact—I’d been angry with a girl, something about a boy, but that’s not important. The big picture is I made her hair fall out, now if I can just do that to myself.

First step is forcing myself to let go of his wrist, easier said than done. It’s the only thing lessening the pain of his grip, but I don’t want to be holding on to him if this works. Taking a deep breath I let my hands fall to the ground, tears take their cue and spring to my eyes.

Damn that hurts! I begin to doubt I can pull this off. Concentrating through this much pain is not something I’ve done before, but I’m running out of options. Not having the physical strength, or know how, I’d lose an all-out fight. As much as I resent my new Talents, right now they’d come in handy, but I have less than a thread of control. The only thing I can count on is the hair and nail Talent and fear is a great motivator.

Pushing my way through the tears and pain, I look for that little place deep inside. I visualize the hair shaft, from tip to root. Coaxing it up and out, watching it lengthen. A vicious tug snaps me back to the real world as he entrenches his hand further into my hair. Sobbing, I work at keeping up the growth, seeing the shaft come to the end of its span.

Hair falls out all the time, approximately one hundred eighty a day. I’m just quickening the process and the count. The tension on my scalp lessens and the scrap of sand slows until it stops.

I’m lying in the sand, half–bald, but that’s the least of my worries. Coming at me is a pissed off psycho holding a handful of hair. It would be comical if I was watching it on the big screen, but I’m living it, so funny goes out the window.

Scrambling to my feet I head the other direction, zig–zagging until I’ve switched positions with him. Not an easy feat in these stinking heels, why hadn’t I taken them off? Talk about stereotypes, stupid blond running away from a psychotic killer wearing three–inch heels.

Do I stop and take them off, or keep running? Either could give him an advantage. Doesn’t matter. I’m face down, my back feeling snapped in two. While I’d been debating, he decided to play football. Guess I had the ball and didn’t know it. Straddling my hips, he rolls me over.

“I’ve had enough, cunt.” He lands a punch any heavyweight would be proud of.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

This is it. I’m done for. My life flutters before my eyes. It seems so short when you really think about it, but even with death lurking, I’m not admitting exact numbers. I’d use my standard, old–enough–to–know–better–but–still–too–young–to–care, but it doesn’t apply. Obviously, I care.

Gods, how I hate duct tape! This will be the second time tonight I’ve been denied proper amounts of oxygen. I’ll give him credit for using my skirt to somewhat cushion my head, but don’t get me started on the mode of transportation. Trunks are for inanimate objects, not people!

I suppose the exhaust leak doesn’t matter since he’s going to kill me anyway. More merciful than what he has planned. Did you know giggling against duct tape vibrates your lips? I’ll chalk that informative little bit up to inhaling fumes.

The hair growing thingy didn’t work out, at least not the way I wanted, so what’s next? I’ve already played your run–of–the–mill heroine, wearing heels and running screaming right into the villain’s arms. Okay, so he tackled me from behind, not a lot of difference in the outcome. If I follow the script, I lay there and whimper, pleading with him not to hurt me. As if that’s going to work. I highly doubt he’ll suddenly want to be friends.

I could try calling up the shadows again, it worked in the lake, but I’d had Vereinen to help. Letting down the wall would unleash the dead things, but the last time that happened, I ended up with the short end. At best they’d take him too, at worst I just helped him.

That I’m not a telepath was proven on the boat. The only person I could possibly communicate with would be Einen, but then I’d be asleep. Trussed up like Sunday dinner in the trunk of a car and I can’t think of a single thing.

My chariot slows down, changing direction. We go from semi–smooth pavement to off–road adventure. Great, he’s going to butcher me in the woods, or better yet, a cornfield. It loses some of its charm, this early in the season, unless you’re a munchkin.

What a day, first I almost drown, and then I’m knocked out, now I’m being subjected to exhaust poisoning. I still have mutilation and murder on the agenda. Can a girl get a break? I take that as a no, the joyride from hel coming to an end.

The trunk pops open and he hauls me out like a bag of dirty laundry. Bracing me against the bumper, he slits the duct tape holding my ankles together. Running is out of the question as he stands me upright. I don’t recommend wearing pole dancer heels on uneven ground. The only thing keeping me off my knees is his grip. From what I can see, I didn’t end up in a cornfield, but it’s still pretty dark.

He starts pulling me forward and I stumble again, twisting an ankle. Not expecting the slightest interest in my welfare, it’s a bit unnerving when he stops and none–too–gently removes my shoes.

The pause allows me to check out the scenery, trees and lots of rock. At least I have an idea of where I am, somehow, the bastard managed to avoid the flooded areas. We’re at Ledges. I can feel the power roll over my skin. It’s one of Iowa’s first national parks and like other national parks, a nexus, or place of power. Not every nexus is a national park, but every national park is a nexus.

Think about the last time you visited one. The extraordinary beauty, or those little tingles you get stepping inside the boundary. Those little tingles are power, raw and untamed. Even Uns can feel it, to a lesser degree. Now if I could just use it to my advantage.

Shoes gone, the dragging commences yet again. I’m starting to feel like a rag doll, and maybe losing the shoes wasn’t such a blessing. Stones, twigs and other painful objects find the bottoms of my feet the preferable place to lodge themselves, matching my bloody kneecaps embedded with sand and other debris. Not that it’ll matter after he dismembers me.

Speaking of which, we come to a stop under what looks like Table Rock. Can this guy get any more cliché? I mean really, the whole virgin—or in my case, not so virginal—on the altar thing is so predictable.

This is the first place anyone would look for a diabolical killer in the park. He really needs to work on the originality to maintain that evil genius status he’s so fond of. Maybe I’m wrong. It’s so predictable that everyone will assume he won’t use it.

Either way I’m not looking forward to the climb, a swimsuit and bare feet are hardly proper hiking attire. My body shakes as laughter bubbles up, a weird muffled sound behind the tape, but I can’t get enough air to really let loose. Tears well in my eyes from both the laughter and the cuff to the side of the head it brings.

“What the fuck are you laughing at, bitch?”

“You,” I say behind my gag, but it comes out more like moo.

My face is on fire as he rips off the tape and the pent–up tears flow freely. The temptation is there to thank him for the wax job, but all I can do is gasp for breath. I flinch, running my tongue over my lips. With as tender and swelled as they are I’ll be giving Angelina a little competition.

“You can’t be serious,” I say, nodding in the direction of the sandstone wall.

There’s a moment of confusion as he looks from me to the wall and back.

“I’ll never make it up that.” I lift one of my feet, reminding him of my lack of shoes. “Might as well just kill me now.”

This earns me yet another open handed smack to the side of the head, just hard enough to shake my balance. You’d think I’d learn. Don’t poke the bear. Especially when the bear’s going to eat you, but it’s that, or fall in a whimpering mass at his feet. Sarcasm as a shield, not the best, but the only defense I have at the moment. If I can buy a little time, maybe the others can track me down, or I can catch him off guard and slip away.

“I’ll kill you when I’m damn good and ready, so shut up.”

“Why? Like you said you’re going to kill me anyway, what’s the point?”

This time he lands a right hook against my jaw. My knees crumble and I tumble sideways. Without hands to catch myself, hip and then shoulder strike the rocky ground, my head the last thing to make contact. Lights flash as the pain explodes through my skull and all those delightful appetizers try to make a hasty exit. I swallow another wave of serious nausea and my vision blurs as something jostles me.

Go to sleep, says something in the back of my abused brain. I need the ground to stop shifting. The throbbing in my head worsens with each movement. Go to sleep, the voice says again, and this time I don’t fight. What does it matter if I don’t wake up? I’m dead anyway. I’ve heard dying in your sleep is the best way to go.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

I’m cold and sore beyond belief, but the pain in my head has lessened to a dull throb. Cracking my eyes open I see nothing, except the palest glow illuminating my surroundings. Rock, lots of rock. Under me, over me, around me, nothing, but rock. Ledges, I’m at Ledges, but there aren’t any caves. Unless the bastard moved me somewhere else, but I doubt I was out that long. Wincing, I lift my head, trying to get a better view. Bad move, the dull throb intensifies trying to beat its way out of my skull. I gently lay it back down on my concrete pillow, trying not to shiver as the chilly ground leaches away my body heat.